Actually a girl's name
by infinitesparkle
Summary: John is absent when Mary goes into labour; Mary finds out just how high her pain threshold really is; and Sherlock learns a new skill. Rated T for childbirth.
1. Twinges

Mary sat on the edge of her bed with one hand on her bump, smiling a secret smile to herself. She'd had a restless night and was pretty tired. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone yet as she didn't want to make a fuss; but now she knew that the twinges were becoming stronger and more regular.

Next to her hospital bag she had her medical notes ready. "Mary Watson", the notes said at the top. Her new name still made her smile. She thought briefly about the woman whose identity she had taken on. Mary's medical history matched hers perfectly, right down to the same blood group, the same scar; they even had the same tattoo. Her identity now.

Mary wasn't sure what the next few hours would bring, but she was ready for it. Confident with a small dose of terror. A perfect combination. Bring it on.

She needed to phone John. He had been away unavoidably. But with the bad weather and the flooding Mary wanted him back sooner rather than later. John's current absence had been especially hard given their estrangement in the early part of her pregnancy, and there was still a part of her that didn't quite believe that John was really still with her. Pregnancy hormones had been messing with her head as well. Making her weepy at the slightest thing.

Mary paced the room as the phone rang out. Then she tried the number again.

"Come on".

No good.

Maybe Sherlock was with him. She tried Sherlock's mobile.

"Sherlock, I can't get hold of John. Is he with you?"

"No, but you're in labour. I'll be right over"

"How did you know…?" The phone went dead. Sherlock was coming over. But the person she really needed was John.

…

Mary cried out, in the grip of a contraction.

Sherlock had driven through heavy rain to get her to the hospital. Once there she had been promptly strapped to a monitor and instructed to lie on her side. Something about the baby's heartbeat decelerating during contractions. After that the midwife had left then in the small room together in the mother and baby unit away from the birthing suite. They had been waiting there for some time. Outside it was getting dark and the storm was getting worse.

To start with the contractions had been painful, but bearable, and they soon passed. But now they were much stronger and Mary was worried. Worried that no-one in the hospital seemed to be doing anything, and worried about John's absence. Sherlock had left about 15 messages on his phone, but there had been no reply.

Mary was swept up in another contraction. She tried to control her breathing through it, but on the second exhalation couldn't keep from crying out again.

"Where's the bloody midwife?" she snapped at Sherlock as soon as she could speak again.

"Maybe she doesn't think you're in active labour yet, suggested Sherlock unhelpfully, as he paced the room, avoiding the large bouncy ball that stood by the bed. Mary suspected Sherlock had been reading her baby books. "Active labour only technically begins at 4cm dilation", he informed her.

"Well, do you want to check?" Mary asked sarcastically.

Sherlock paused for a beat, and then answered precisely.

"No".

"Well go and find a bloody midwife then. And get John", she shouted after him.

Mary watched Sherlock leave the room and another wave of agony paralysed her. She was aware that there were mothers and new babies trying to sleep in the next room, and she didn't want to wake them up, but lying down allowed her no opportunity to manage her pain and to stop herself from yelling.

Sod it, she thought. If she made enough noise maybe one of the midwives would hear and get her some pain relief.

Sherlock returned alone, looking perplexed, and a bit like he didn't know what had just happened.

"They're busy", he said quickly. Apparently even Sherlock was no match for the midwives.

"Well try harder." Mary sounded exasperated. "Be rude to them if you have to".

"I was", Sherlock assured her.

Mary tried to stay relaxed as she felt the next wave coming.


	2. There must be a limit

Mary had had enough. She couldn't take lying down any longer. Tearing the Velcro strip of the monitor from around her bump she awkwardly pulled her formerly size 12 frame to her feet.

Upright; that was so much better. This was where she needed to be. She was in control now.

"Mary, I really think you need to stay on the monitor", interjected Sherlock.

"I'm not staying on that bed any longer", Mary replied with some force. "I want John, and I want a midwife here now. And what's the point of being on the bloody monitor, when nobody's bloody MONITORING IT?"

Mary stamped into the corridor and up to a midwife who was bustling along with some files.

"I actually need some pain relief now, please, and I need someone to check on me", she told the midwife as politely as she could manage. The midwife eyed her up and down.

"What's your pain threshold usually like? She asked.

Mary wasn't even sure how to answer that question. She wanted to tell her about the time she had fought off two attackers while bleeding heavily from a knife wound, but just then the next contraction rendered her temporarily unable to speak, and she only managed a groan and a scowl. The midwife cut in;

"Hmm, not so good then. I'll get you some paracetamol, and we'll get you back on the monitor." The midwife hurried off.

Was that it? Not really a result.

But impossible to be too upset with the midwives. She could see how hard they were working.

...

Mary found herself back on the bed; lying on her side AGAIN. Still strapped to the monitor. Still no John.

It was properly night time now. Heavy rain drummed on the window. "How can the rain just keep coming?" thought Mary. "There must be a limit to it."

Sherlock had stopped pacing now and was just standing still, gazing out of the window. They'd hardly spoken. Mary was used to feeling alone, but in the hospital room, uncertain of what was happening to her baby or her own body, she wished that there was someone around to help her.

There was a while, after John had found out about her secret, when she had thought that she would be doing this alone anyway. And she had wished so much there was someone else, anyone; her mother, a sister. Just someone that she belonged to that would be there for her. But, besides John, all the people that Mary had trusted were left behind in her past.

It was only her now. And Sherlock.

"Sherlock?" Mary asked almost whispering.

Sherlock looked at her, turning away from the window.

"Please will you rub my back, Sherlock?

Sherlock looked as if he'd been shot. Actually maybe that wasn't the best analogy. Anyway, he looked appalled.

"Well, I can't rub your back, can I? You've got a…thing, a large Velcro strap in the way".

Mary knew they were both way out of their depth.

"Please Sherlock", she whispered.

As the next contraction ramped up, Sherlock's knuckles dug into her back. Wow, who'd have thought? He was good at this.

Mary's eyes welled up as she thought about how it should have been John rubbing her back.

But it was Sherlock that got her through the next lot of contractions.

…

At long last a midwife came bustling in.

"Right let's see how you're doing".

The midwife performed an eye-wateringly painful check and finally seemed satisfied that things were happening.

"Do you think you can get into a wheel-chair to go downstairs?" asked the midwife.

"I can walk", snapped back Mary belligerently, desperate to be off the bed and on her feet.

The midwife smiled a little smile, "It's a long way to the birthing suite. We'll take you on the bed."

Not the bed. Please not the bed.

By now Mary really hated the bed. But she wasn't about to argue with the midwife. At least something was happening now.

And there might be pain relief.

John should be here, though.

...

Mary inhaled through the mouthpiece. The pain blurred, along with everything else in the room.

That helped.

Mary realised she was laughing without really knowing why. In front of her she saw Sherlock's face smiling with relief because she was smiling. The midwife was smiling too.

But then the next massive crunching contraction came and Mary was caught off guard, not having yet worked out the timing on the entonox. She couldn't really remember what it was like the time she was stabbed, but she was sure that this was worse. She was aware she was making a lot of noise, and her legs were pushing down uselessly on nothing. Why was she STILL lying down? This was not where she wanted to be.

Mary thought back to the antenatal class. Active labour was supposed to take eight hours, she remembered. Eight hours. And it's only going to get worse.

Sod it, thought Mary. And after that she just kept breathing the gas and air without stopping.


	3. Entonox

AGRA floated in the infinite mist. Soft blankets of silence surrounding her.

Far away she was aware of distress; clawing pain and confusion. But out here in the mist everything was still.

AGRA saw the brightness shift forever from light to dark and back again.

Somewhere she thought someone was screaming. The sadness rained down in her as she knew that it was her fault. Someone she had hurt. Someone she had killed. She knew what she had done, and what she was, and that was why she belonged here in the mist and raindrops.

John wasn't with her; he couldn't be. And the ache hung heavily in her soul. The ache of what she couldn't have, and the ache of being alone.

Far away Mary Watson was having her baby. She knew Mary and John and the baby would be happy together. That they deserved to be happy together. But AGRA was just dust and light and so she was here. And here she could bear it, because there was no real pain.

AGRA felt the searing sadness of separation. Like a force prising something out of her that had been embedded in her soul. The sadness eternally filling her like a teardrop on the brink of falling forever. She knew she had to let John go. And she would have to let her baby go. Like so many people from her old life that she would never see again. All the fleeting faces. People she loved that were now dead to her. Everybody vanished and gone.

She had taken life. And she must forfeit the tiny being that had grown inside her. She must release that being into the mist of tears. The little life she didn't deserve. And the baby would be safe now with John and Mary. The baby would be loved. But AGRA would not be loved.

The mist twisted and threw her head backwards and then forwards in waves, she thought she saw someone's face. Then an image of the midwife. She was hazily aware of the stork picture on the ceiling and the monitor around her.

The series of still images tumbled back together into a continuum and the sound rushed back in. Voices shouting at her, urging her. The midwife was looking stressed. John was here.

_John was here._

….

Mary felt a fleeting moment of surprise that she was still there, and that it was actually her that was giving birth. How long had she been here? The clock suggested only about 30 minutes. It felt like hours.

She realised the gas and air had been taken away from her and, with some relief that she must be on the home stretch.

"You've been using up all your energy on screaming. You need to focus". The midwife sounded anxious as she reviewed the output from the monitor.

"Come on. Baby's getting tired now. We need you to concentrate on pushing".

The midwife was strongly urging her to push and there was no fibre of her being that was going to argue with that. Bloody hell, she was going to get this baby out if it broke her. She had gone beyond pain into something else and the animal in her had taken over.

Mary groaned fiercely with everything she had in her.

"Just one more push", encouraged the midwife.

Mary waited for the wave to come and then cried out with every last reserve of her energy.

"Alright, now stop… OK never mind", she heard she midwife say, with a smile.

Mary heard her own roar violently increase in pitch as the baby tumbled out all at once. And then she sunk back exhausted onto the pillows, John's hand in hers, as the flood of elation came.

...

Mary looked down at the baby lying on her chest. John smiled down at them both, his face a picture of joy and pride.

The little girl had been delivered in perfect health.

Mary realised that Sherlock was there; loitering awkwardly in the background. She vaguely wondered if that shouldn't feel a bit weirder than it actually did. It didn't matter though.

The midwife collared Sherlock, "Now I need you to find some clothes for baby, while mum has a rest", the midwife instructed him. "Hat, vest _and_ babygro, please". She rushed off to get the tea and toast.

Mary watched over John's shoulder and smiled as Sherlock struggled to relate any of the words the midwife had just said with the assortment of tiny garments he was pulling out of the hospital bag.

The baby lay scrunched up; tiny, pink and perfect. The only other person in Mary's world that was her own biological flesh and blood. Someone to whom she could belong, and who would belong to her.

Mary looked up at John's slightly troubled face. She noticed now that he was soaked to the skin and muddy, and looked almost as exhausted as she was; except that wasn't possible.

"Mary. I'm so sorry. I tried to get to you. They've closed all the roads. Everything's flooded. But… you've done it. You've done it. She's amazing." He laughed gently, looking down at his daughter.

Mary smiled and bit her lip.

"Well at least Sherlock was looking after me", she said, teasing. John glanced over at Sherlock, looking moderately dubious.

Mary couldn't stop looking at the tiny little life asleep on her chest.

"I can keep her, can't I?" Mary asked sleepily, half to herself.

"Um…yes", John's reply came, slightly puzzled but smiling.

"And I can keep you?"

"I'm not going anywhere," he replied softly.

...

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.**


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